


Light Me Up Before I'm Done

by quirkysubject



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Blasphemy, Demons, Dubious Consent, First Time, Humor, Latin Grammar, M/M, Magic Demon Lube, Magical Realism, Recreational Drug Use, Succubi & Incubi, Top Freddie Mercury, all the fire metaphors, anti-religious sentiments, late 60s, munchies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24195652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quirkysubject/pseuds/quirkysubject
Summary: Roger summons a sex demon. It doesn't go quite as expected.
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Comments: 40
Kudos: 65
Collections: Queen Must Fuck Weekend, The Clog Factory Against The Bottom Police





	Light Me Up Before I'm Done

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt: Character A is an Incubus, a creature that needs sex to survive.**
> 
> ~~~
> 
>  **Soundtrack Version 1 (the author's experience):**  
>  Battle Beast - [Out of Control](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VWHfiEKK3zw), [Touch in the Night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=enSmON-pcpA) & [Straight to the Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q2Ly7TFiR2I)
> 
>  **Soundtrack Version 2 (Roger's experience):**  
>  Pink Floyd - [Saucerful of Secrets](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rmmuHnXLJiw)
> 
> I'm giving a "Rape/Non-Con Warning" to be on the safe side. I think the best descriptor is dubcon.

##### West London, Sinclair Gardens, Autumn 1968

The ghost of a breath whispers over his cheek. Soft fingers run down his chest, making the sparse hair on their trail stand on end. The air is thick with more than just the smoke of the spent spliff. There is a presence of something far more real than the feverish fantasies conjured up by his excitable libido.

Roger’s eyes fly open. “Bloody hell”, he gasps at the sight in front of him.

Huge eyes, framed by long lashes and black like sin, draw him into their depths. Plump red lips, made to look to look even more sensual by the teeth pushing them forward, beckon for a kiss. Skin glowing like bronze in the candlelight invites his touch. It’s a lot of skin, because the only cover is a draped piece of red silk, winding itself around narrow shoulders, a hairy chest, down to…

A _hairy_ chest?

“Woah, wait, what the...?” Roger scrambles back on his elbows, trying to put some distance between himself and the… it. Him. Clearly a him. Or is it? Roger’s brain stumbles over itself as it tries to keep up with developments.

“The answer to your prayers”, the creature purrs as it crawls after him, its slim hips swaying hypnotically from side to side. “The fulfilment of your darkest fantasies.” The voice is full and deep, dripping like molasses into his ears. The words wind themselves around Roger’s limbs like tendrils, making it hard to move.

“But… I.” What?

Roger goes cross-eyed as he tries to follow the long-nailed ~~claw~~ finger trailing down his nose.

The creature’s mouth curls into a sensuous smile. “My, aren’t you lovely?”

How the hell is this happening to him?

~~~

It was supposed to be a lark. Pat had told him this wild story about a sex demon she had summoned. She had been stoned out of her mind both when she told him _and_ when the demon sex was supposed to have happened, so Roger was more than a bit sceptical. He was also more than happy to listen to her detailed description though. He must have shown enough interest that she’d written down the incantation for him along with a crude drawing of the chalk circle that was apparently really important for making it happen.

Roger doesn’t believe in all that, of course. Just because it’s devils and demons doesn’t make it any better than gods and angels. It’s all the same nonsense.

Except it’s slightly more _interesting_ nonsense.

He’d almost forgot all about it, until he found the crumpled slip of paper in his pocket. He'd been nursing a hangover all day and Jill had just gone back to Cornwall and it had been raining for about a month. He was not in the mood to head down to the pub with the others, but that lazy, bone-deep horniness that he always carried around with him when he’d had a couple too many the day before just wouldn’t go away. And although his right hand is a very talented one, it is also overly familiar by now.

And what the hell, even if it was all just self-suggestion and an overactive imagination, it was still worth a try. After all, he had great powers of persuasion and a very creative mind.

So he’d drawn the circle on the floor of the front bedroom - the one the flatmates had agreed was reserved for private occasions - picked up the stub of a spliff he found in the ashtray (it still had a good two or three puffs left in it) and lain down on the floor. Then he got back up to put on _A Saucerful of Secrets_ and lit the dribbly candle on the coffee table. He never bothered to put on more than his briefs and a tattered t-shirt, so the set-up was perfect for a leisurely late-night wank.

It had taken a few minutes to learn the incantation off by heart (“You _must_ , so you can say it with your eyes closed”, Patty had impressed upon him, “it’s _pa-ra-mount._ ”), but then he lit the spliff and tried to relax as much as he could on the hardwood floor. He stretched his arms over his head as he held the sweet-tasting smoke in his lungs as long as he could. Then he let one hand trail over his chest as the first stirrings of arousal were zapping through him.

_Then at last the mighty ship  
Descending on a point of flame  
Made contact with the human race  
And melted hearts_

The joint and the music made his mind mellow and soft, took him just enough outside his body that he could imagine it wasn’t his own hand touching him. He hadn’t decided who would feature in his fantasy tonight. Jill? Hasini, who was always making eyes at him in class? Claudia Cardinale?

All of them?

_Now, now, now is the time, time  
Time to be, be, be aware_

It almost didn’t seem worth the effort to say the words, but then, that was the point of the whole exercise.

What harm could it do?

~~~

“But you are…” Roger trails off as his gaze is drawn to a fast movement just behind the creature’s shoulders. Wings. It’s got _wings_. He. It. Whatever. Pointy black wings like something out of a comic book and ridiculously small horns poking out between shiny black hair.

Roger doesn’t look for a tail. He knows it’s there.

He has two options. He can either believe that he has somehow summoned an actual demon or accept that this is the sort of thing his subconscious comes up with all on its own. That _this_ is his secret sex fantasy.

“I can see the two of us are going to have so much fun.” The demon leans in to kiss him.

“Avaunt”, Roger yells and damned if he knows where _that_ came from. To his amazement and relief, the demon actually shrinks back a little.

“Ouch!” It rubs its forehead as sparks glitter around its horns. “What was that for?”

“Who are you”, Roger asks, although ‘What are you’ might be more apt.

“The answer to your prayers”, the demon repeats dully, a sulky expression on its face. “The-”

“I mean what are you doing here?”

The demon looks at him, at the circle on the floor, the slip of paper with the incantation. “You summoned me, mortal.”

Roger crosses his arms and scoffs. “No, I didn’t.”

“Of course you did!” The creature glares at him, but then its - _his_ \- expression softens and he inclines his head towards Roger. “First time?”

“No”, Roger exclaims. “Yes, no, I mean…” He shakes his head, somehow trying not to think about the fact that he’s arguing with a demon. “I meant a _girl_.”

The demon just keeps looking at him.

Roger reaches for the magazine on the nightstand which automatically falls open to a picture spread of Claudia Cardinale modelling swimsuits. “You know. Girls.” Or perhaps the demon _doesn’t_ know? Roger has no idea how these things work in the demon world.

“Oh. Not up on their Latin grammar then, that friend of yours.” The demon holds on to the edge of the coffee table and does a backbend so deep the tips of its hair touch the ground. It looks like a dancer stretching before a performance. It’s deeply disconcerting and also sends Roger’s blood rushing south.

“How do you mean?” Roger squints at the text, mainly so he doesn’t have to look at the demon any longer. It’s not that he ever excelled at Latin, but the words look alright to him. Or should he have used an ablative there? _A, absque, coram, de_ … He runs through the mnemonic in his head, but no, that’s not it. Also, why would an incorrect case mean he gets settled with a cheeky bloke of a demon instead of a busty lady devil? Pat said that the most important aspect is what he's trying to manifest with his thoughts, and he sure as hell didn’t try to manifest anything with chest hair. Or a prominent bulge under a satiny loincloth.

The demon flicks its hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. You have summoned me to your abode.”

Roger looks around the cluttered student shack. Not in his wildest dreams would he ever have called it an abode.

“I am obliged to fulfil your deepest, darkest desires.” The creature has turned around onto its hands and knees, crawling towards Roger.

Roger would have thought that Claudia Cardinale riding him into the sunrise is neither a particularly dark nor well-hidden desire. As far as he knows, it’s one he shares with his entire Upper Sixth.

“I. I don’t think.” He can’t look away from those mesmerising eyes. Shadows seem to be dancing inside it. Or is that just the weed playing tricks on him? He blinks rapidly a few times, frozen to the spot. What was he about to say?

The demon looms above him, every movement dripping with sin.

“I mean.” Roger’s eyes drift down to those voluptuous lips as if drawn by magic.

They’re hot as they descend upon him, crackling like wildfire. The tongue is a hot flame licking into his mouth, leaving him parched and gasping for more. Nothing has ever come close to feeling like this and Roger’s hands automatically come up to bury themselves in the demon’s hair, which is thick like velvet. He slides his hand around, over a smooth cheek, a long neck, down to where he expects the incomparable softness of a pair of...

His head falls back against the floor with a thump as he jerks his hands away. The demon growls in displeasure.

“How d’you mean she wasn’t up to her grammar”, Roger asks, not exactly sure why that should be his most pressing question right now.

The demon cocks his head. “You don’t strike me as the type to discuss grammar when things get”, he trails his hand down Roger’s stomach, “heated.”

Roger grasps the demon’s wrist firmly and recoils as his palm gets scorched. Why can he kiss that thing _(oh bloody hell, he kissed that thing!)_ but not… He sits back against the wall, a safe distance from the demon, which is starting to look a bit annoyed, its tail lashing from side to side. “Explain it to me.”

The demon rolls his eyes dramatically and lies down on his side like he’s a fucking pin-up. “You summoned an incubus, from in-cubare which means to ‘lie upon’. Whereas a succubus…”

“...lies beneath”, Roger finishes for him. “But that’s fine. I’ve no problem with the girl on top.” Excellent view of and access to her tits _and_ they get so nice and breathless from all the bouncing. It ranks very high on Roger’s list of favourite sex positions. In fact, it had featured heavily in the original plan so…

“Oh, it’s not about who’s on top, darling. Well, not _literally_ , if you get my drift?” The suc- _in_ cubus runs one long-nailed finger down his chest and raises one eyebrow knowingly.

Roger’s mouth pops open. “No way, mate.” He gets up and puts a couple more yards between him and the demon. “You got, like, entirely the wrong idea.” He clears his throat. “I know I’ve got the face of a choir boy, but that doesn’t mean I roll over for anyone. Got that?”

The incubus looks definitely annoyed now. “Well, _mate_ , I’m not the one who summoned me!”

“Obviously there’s been some kind of mistake at the… what have you got down there, like a labour exchange?”

The demon stares at him like he is a few marbles short of a set.

Roger continues. “Yeah, so, maybe you can go back and send one of your lady colleagues?” Actually, that’s a great idea. They could still sort this out.

The demon doesn’t answer. “Labour exchange”, he mouths to himself, a frown on his face.

“There’s probably one very disappointed gal somewhere, trying to make small talk with her succubus.”

“I’m not sure disappointed is the right word.” The incubus gives him a suggestive look. Even more suggestive than he looks anyway. “Or small talk, for that matter.”

An image of Claudia Cardinale in demon form appears in his mind. How she climbs into Patty’s bed, crawling over her, hands sliding skilfully under her nightshirt... “Yeah”, he says.

The incubus moves again, almost slithering along the floor towards him. It looks awfully graceful, despite the wings, or maybe because of the wings. It’s almost tempting. Roger remembers the lips burning against his own, like the heat of the sun directed all at him. Would it really be that bad to have a little taste of that?

_Not literally, if you get my drift._

No. Nope. Nothing’s going to drift here. This madness will end right now.

* * *

The dread apparition looks on with growing alarm as the mortal steps back into the circle, piece of paper in hand, clearing his throat.

“Hey, wait, what are you doing?”

“Stopping this madness”, the mortal says in his high, slightly hoarse voice.

He raises a placating hand. “No, no, no, darling, you mustn’t, you…”

The mortal squints down at the incantation. “Fini-”

“No.” Panicked, he tries to get into the circle to take the slip away but staggers back as he is repelled. “Don’t send me away, please.”

The boy hesitates, staring at him with those wide blue eyes.

Oh, he must look pathetic, begging him to let him stay. But he can already feel the need burning away inside him, eating up his essence. It’s not the sweet heat of desire, stoked by lust and passion. It's a punishing smouldering coal-seam fire, inexorably crawling beneath his skin, leaving dead ashes and devastation in its wake. It is fed by the devotion of his worshippers, by their submission to his pleasures. But when that runs out, the only one it has got to feed on is he himself.

And he’s wearing thin.

“I can do… I can do other things to please you, yes?” He nods in the hopes that the mortal will nod along with him.

He looks worried now. “What, do you not get paid or something if I send you away?”

“Er. Something like that”, he says slowly.

“Sorry mate, that’s rough. Didn’t mean to...” The boy looks around and walks over to the cluttered coffee table (out of the circle, praised be Satan), rummaging around a small box until there’s a tinkle of metal. “I can give you some money! Alright, it's not much, but it should be enough for a chip butty or something.” Then his face lights up. “Oh, and I’ve still got some leftover pizza! We could share!” Without waiting for an answer, he heads for the door.

The pride of his profession is sinking lower with every passing century. Back in the olden days, people would dedicate their entire lives to searching for the secret words to summon the sinful creatures of the night and then showed proper reverence and conduct (mixed with abject horror) once they appeared. Oh, those were the days when one of his visits would be paid for in months of self-flagellation.

Yet here he is, being offered a chip butty, whatever that is supposed to be.

And just like that, he is close to tears. Oh yes, that would be just like him. Breaking down in front of a supplicant like some lowly, pathetic imp.

“What’s your name,” the mortal asks as he returns with a soggy carton box full of dubious organic matter, already chewing on something.

He sniffs. “The dread sound of that ancient name shall never be heard by mortal ear else he surely perisheth.” He can’t muster the energy to say the words with the right sort of conviction.

“Yeah, well.” The mortal sits down on the edge of the bed, now looking completely unconcerned about the sex fiend who has invaded his abode, and bites into something greasy and disgusting. “I can hardly call you The Creature now, can I?” He offers him the box. “I’m Roger, by the way.”

“How about Foul Fiend”, he suggests meekly.

“Come on.” There’s a playful smile on the mortal’s - on _Roger’s_ \- face as he licks crumbs and sauce off his fingers. “I’m not actually going to die if you tell me your name, right?”

“No”, he admits. That line he had cribbed from a novel. But no one had ever pressed the issue after he quoted it.

“So?”

He doesn’t have a choice. If his summoner asks his name, he can’t keep it from him.

He takes a deep sigh. “Freddie,” he mumbles.

“Freddie?” The mortal gapes at him.

“Yes, Freddie”, he hisses. He can feel his wings starting to twitch with annoyance.

“Your dread ancient name is _Freddie_?” The smile that lights up the mortal’s face can only be described as dazzling.

Freddie crosses his arms and emits a small puff of smoke through his ears. “Not everyone can be Mithaokhta. Or Astaroth.” Who’s a moron, but hey, he’s got a cool name, so who cares?

By all the tortured souls in hell, he hates this. He’s never been made to explain himself like that in the olden days. Or offered pizza. It must be all those liberated morals, the acceptance and constant availability of earthly pleasures. He doesn’t know much of this bright world, but there have been so many changes. Changes that leave no need for creatures like him.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that.” Roger leans over and pats his arm, then pulls his hand away like he’s been burnt. “Jesus fuck!”

The curse is like a brief shower of refreshing sparks on his parched insides and Freddie laps it up.

“Are you alright? You need some water or something?” Concerned blue eyes search his face. “You’re burning up!”

Freddie can feel it. This is his way in. Already, some of the insatiable embers inside him are licking up into small, bright flames, devouring every flicker of concern that is sent his way. It’s meagre fuel, not enough to stoke the flames to the white-hot inferno that will give him peace, at least for a while. But it’s a beginning.

He lets the feeling crackle through him, tries to put all the heat that is in him into his gaze. “I’m burning up for you”, he rasps, keeping his lips in a little pout after the ‘you’.

“Fuck.” The supplicant’s mouth has gone slack as he stares at Freddie.

Freddie feels his spirits rise. He’s still got it. What are six thousand years of experience against a bit of puny mortal resistance? That boy can’t be older than a hundred and fifty, maybe two hundred at most.

He sits down on the edge of the bed and reaches for the supplicant, who stares at his hand as if hypnotised. But just before Freddie can run his fingers up Roger’s shoulder, he recoils with a look of alarm on his face.

“Oh, don’t you worry, my dear, it won’t hurt a bit”, Freddie mutters as he moves closer. His inner fire can be a blistering source of destruction, but when it is transformed by desire even mortals can touch him. “If you’ll allow it. Promise.”

He puts the tips of his fingers against Roger’s chest. Roger startles and sucks in a breath, but then relaxes when he feels he’s not getting burnt. “Bloody hell”, he whispers.

That’s more like it.

Freddie forms his fingers into claws and runs his nails over the boy’s smooth chest, making him shiver. When he flings the revolting pizza box away, Roger doesn’t even seem to notice. “That’s it. Let me. I will make you feel so good you will forget your own name.”

He leans closer and closer, his eyes wandering between those big blue eyes and the boy’s slack mouth.

Oh, this will be fun. This will be so much fun.

* * *

Fingers hot as sin sparking fires everywhere they touch. An all-consuming mouth sucking on his tongue with such sultry abandon any blowjob pales in comparison. Teeth-pulling on his lips. Something _(don’t think tail, don’t think wings)_ stroking through his hair, making his scalp prickle with bliss.

He is still tasting the copper fire of those kisses in his mouth when he realises that the lips, no, the whole creature has shifted downwards. That sinful tongue is lighting trails of flame along his chest, his stomach, his hips, and by the time it descends on his cock, he’s too far gone to wonder exactly where and how his underwear has disappeared.

The pressure and slide are exquisite, like he is being engulfed in wet, hot, twisting silk, ever moving in an endless vortex. He presses his head back into the mattress and reaches up to the headboard of the bed, clinging to it with all his strength. This feels so good he won’t last long, but if this is his one shot at demon sex, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t enjoy every last second of it.

The sensation around his cock changes to something tighter but no less skilful, while the core of the addictive heat shifts lower, sucking and licking until it has engulfed his balls completely.

Something about heat being a good contraceptive flits through his mind until every thought is replaced by the want, the need to come his brains out right this second.

“No, no, don’t stop, you bastard." Roger groans and reaches down frantically to get Freddie to put his mouth there again, just a second, he won’t need more than that.

“Don’t you worry, darling”, the demon tuts right against his bollocks while his fingers form a tight ring around the base of his cock.

“Fuck!” Roger twists on the sheets, trying to get the kind of friction where he wants it.

It’s back, just for a second, but then it goes even further back, and why are his legs suddenly bent and drawn up in the air? Should he even wonder about unimportant details like that when everything feels so good and wet and _hot_ , god it’s sweltering in here, and yet he’s shivering madly as that fire is burning so deep inside him.

_So deep inside him._

He realises that the sound he just made might be called a shriek. He also feels like he’s got every right to since that creature - _Freddie_ , fucking Freddie for fuck’s sake - has got its tongue… its _tongue..._!

He wriggles away as best he can. “I don’t want… that”, he says as politely as he can, so as not to frighten off that infernally skilful hand still pleasuring his cock. It’s a careful balancing act of diplomacy he has to conduct with all of two functioning brain cells.

“Hmm. But you do want _that_.” The infernally skilful hand does something that’s probably completely illegal but also toe-curlingly good to his rock hard cock. That bloody demon is reading every one of his bloody thoughts, isn’t he?

“Hrgh,” he says.

Then the hand is gone completely, and it suddenly feels so cold that Roger reaches out blindly to put it back.

“You want it back? Oh, you can have it back.” The creature is practically purring, the vibrations rumbling through Roger’s body. “I got what you need.”

“Yes, please”, he hears himself whimper and then the hand and tongue are back. The part of his mind that somehow is still able to form thoughts hopes that none of his mates will be back home early tonight, because there’s no way he can play off the sounds he’s making as those of an over-enthusiastic girl.

Coils of pleasure envelop him, sending droplets of sweat running all over his feverish skin. His insides are glowing embers, his whole body trembling with lust. Is this what that karmic love thing Pete is always going on about is like? Roger makes an idle vow to start meditating tomorrow, but then Freddie’s face hovers into view and all remaining thought blows up in a shower of sparks.

He tries to reach up to touch the sinful curve of Freddie’s lips, but finds he can’t because his hands are trapped in, in something.

“Give yourself to me, mortal”, Freddie whispers and his eyes are like black stars.

“Yeah.” What, no! No, that’s not… but there’s a haze fogging up his brain in shades of back and red. One elegant finger trails along his cheek and his head lolls to the side, baring his neck. A thumb rubs over the head of his cock and his body arches off the bed, chasing that touch.

Freddie’s smile, glittering with triumph and lust, is the last thing Roger sees before he is engulfed in a searing kiss, tongue pressing into his mouth while something else entirely is pressing into his body and everything ignites into flame, his body and soul swallowed whole.

After, it’s like a fever has broken, leaving him shivery and covered in a cold sweat, memory fading into delirious dreams. The feeling of being consumed by a fire burning inside and out, the melting of his mind into stupid ignorant bliss, the implosion of a falling star.

If that was a taste of hell, why on earth is anyone trying to get into heaven?

~~~

When he blinks his eyes open, grey light is filtering in through the windows and he’s covered by a blanket. He pushes himself up on one elbow and looks around, trying to get a glimpse of the… the… whatever happened here. But the room is empty. Only the remnants of the joint in the ashtray and the smudged chalk circle on the floor are reminders of his wild night.

Roger yawns and stretches. Every muscle is soft and rubbery and warm. He feels great, really, except for the slight twinge in his… He groans and covers his eyes with his forearm. Christ, there must have been something else mixed in with that weed to give him that kind of a trip.

He chuckles at himself. The next time Pete tells him about seeing the end of the universe, he’s not going to be so quick to laugh. It’s amazing what the mind can come up with given the right mix of drugs and self-suggestion. Not that he’s going to tell anyone what exactly his fantasy demon got up to. That would only raise questions he’s not keen to answer. And thinking about that, he should probably really go and wash his hands. And the sheets. And the rest of himself too.

He rolls onto his side and his gaze falls on the piece of paper on the coffee table. He picks it up, intending to crumple it up and toss it out along with the rest of the contents of the ashtray, when something that is not Patty’s handwriting catches his eye. It’s a curling, complex script, the kind he would expect to find in an old manuscript.

His heart beating loudly in his ears, he raises the note close enough to his eyes that he can read it.

“You Know How To Call Me.”

Faint wisps of smoke are still curling up from the script.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the entire premise of this fic rests on the fact that the prompt specified it was an “Incubus” instead of a “Succubus” ;)
> 
> Pete was a flatmate of Roger’s when he first came to London. According to “Queen in Cornwall”, he was “so into transcendental meditation he rarely spoke and just smiled a lot”. Jill was Roger’s girlfriend from Truro.
> 
> Credits to Battle Beast for providing me with the title and to Terry Pratchett (Eric) for the wonderful word "Avaunt".


End file.
